The frequency of my rumination of living as a nomad has increased. I’m scratching an itch that doesn’t appear to be resolving; it may require the healing properties of the nomadic lifestyle. The suburban jungle in which I live is choking me with its toxicity of noise, pollution, and meanness. Living in the midsts of the general population sours my appreciation for humanity. After trips to Costco, I just want to hole up in my house, pretending I’m on the road less traveled by others. It saddens me to listen to the birds sing, only to have their lovely songs interrupted by aircraft, sirens, trains, traffic, construction, and other obscenities of urbanization. I make an earnest attempt to accept and appreciate suburbanization, but the disillusion of acceptance plagues me like a boil on the posterior.

I don’t believe running from my existence as a suburbanite will cure my itch for getting out of Dodge; instead, moving forward in a different direction may produce the remedy I seek. I’ve been fortunate to have had two successful careers, journeyman machinist and IT professional. I’ve moved around a bit up and down on the west coast, and for the past twenty-five years have called Portland, Oregon home. I’m retired, I spent thirteen years as a full-time caregiver to my parents until their respective passings, I have no siblings or children, and wonder WTF I am doing with my life. Find a third career? Thought about that, but I’m not into watching reruns. Start a business? While I applaud entrepreneurs for their tenacity and creativity, visualizing starting and running a company gives me indigestion. My retirement funds allow me to either stay put in suburbia or have an estate sale and hit the road as a nomad. Dying without living is not an option. My health is above average for men in my age bracket, I exercise, eat an ancestral diet (Keto), and there’s no logic in stagnating myself to death. Have wheels will travel appeals to me. I like to read and write, take photos, record sounds and make soundscapes, hike, go rucking, and hangout solo or with others; all of which I can do as a nomad. I foresee living life as a nomad would enhance all my activities. But!

I realize a nomadic lifestyle is not sustainable, for a day will come when I need to find a permanent camp from which to watch my final sunsets. A more likely scenario is discovering a locale during my travels that beckons me to put down roots, and that idea works for me. I considered after the big selloff purchasing a cabin or lot along the Oregon Coastal range to call home base before casting off as a nomad. The issue with that scenario is being anchored to a location, which would present a problem if in my journeys, I fell in love with another area that calls out to me to stay. I don’t want an anchor while I’m exploring the roads less traveled. I can analyze my options until they paralyze me with inaction. Overthinking a situation can taint the water, but conducting due diligence builds confidence in choosing which way to proceed.

I’ll reiterate my desire to experience life with adventure, purpose, and exuberance. Meeting up with a caravan of nomads fascinates me, which presents a venue to interact with likeminded people hailing from different parts of the country, to establish new friendships, to commune with nature, to heal thyself. Am I really ‘living’ in suburbia? No, I’m existing, pretending to have a life. I want to explore, damn it! I want to drive the backroads of this great nation with the spirits of both my dad riding shotgun and my mom in the rear seat dozing off.

I want to discover America my way, on my terms, while I still possess my mental clarity and my health. I fear of dying without having lived. Is it time for me to go get some?

To be continued.